Bingo!
by MizJoely
Summary: Nine ficlets for Molly Hooper Appreciation Week 2020.
1. Candy

_A/N:: This one's rated K+ and is set Post The Final Problem._

* * *

Molly likes candy. Chocolate, especially Cadbury bars (in every variety except peppermint cream but the plain dairy milk is her go-to). She's not terribly fond of gummy worms but loves gummy bears, which makes absolutely no sense but don't even _think _of telling her that or she'll happily lecture you on the differences in taste, elasticity, chewiness, and stickiness. Toffee and caramel, lollipops, Mars bars (especially fried), saltwater taffy (but only from someplace called Natasket in the United States), and Jelly babies and too many others to list.

But the point is, he _can _list them. Every single one of them. Sherlock Holmes knows them all, and what's more, he knows her reasons for liking or disliking them.

"I know what kind of candy you like," he blurts out before she's done more than crack open the door.

Molly looks at him like he's grown an extra head and he can't blame her, especially under the circumstances, but he pushes on. "I know what you like, I know what you hate." He taps the side of his head, ignoring the small gasp that escapes her lips as she sees his bandaged knuckles. "It's all in here. I've never deleted a single one of your preferences."

"What happened to your hands?" she asks when he falls silent. "Does this have something to do with that phone call? The one your brother sort of explained after his minions finished turning my flat upside down looking for cameras and explosives?"

He nods. "It does. There was a coffin and I couldn't bear the thought of you being in one so I smashed it. And I kept thinking, Molly would yell at you for this but I couldn't stop and then all I wanted was a fried Mars bar and to see you."

She reaches out and takes his hands in hers, gently, tenderly. "Well, you're seeing me. And I think we can manage the fried Mars bars as well. If you still want one."

He nods, feeling as if he's used up all his words, allows her to bring him into her flat and hopes he can explain himself a bit better after having something to eat.

Because knowing everything about Molly Hooper's candy preferences tells him more than anything else that when he said those three little words...he meant them.


	2. Red and Pink

_A/N: This one's also rated K+. Established Sherlolly fluff this time. Enjoy!_

* * *

It's the day before Valentine's Day, which for some reason is known as Galentine's Day, and Molly is off with her friend Meena and Sally Donovan and Mrs. Hudson and several of the other women she works with at St. Barts having drinks and ogling male dancers at Forbidden Nights. He smiles fondly, remembering the night he was dancing there whilst undercover and Molly was there for a Hen do and nearly had a coronary when she recognised him.

She comes staggering home well past midnight; he's up reviewing case notes on her laptop and gladly assists her in disentangling herself from her handbag and coat and shoes. A tipsy Molly is an adorable Molly, especially in her red and pink dress.

"Love you, Sherrrlock," she slurs as he tucks her under the covers. Her pyjamas are red and pink too.

"Love you, Molly," he replies, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. Her eyelids are drooping and she yawns a gin-laden yawn before turning on her side and he smiles as she falls asleep.


	3. Wine

_A/N: This one's rated T for implied sexytimes and some dirty, dirty thoughts that Molly has. Enjoy!_

* * *

She's enjoying her Galentine's Day night out with the girls, she really is. The dancers at Forbidden Nights are absolutely smashing, but she can't help remembering the last time she was here, for a co-worker's Hen Night. She'd only known Sherlock for a few months; it was right before he met John, or was it just after? Somewhere around that time; she'll have to check her blog from that year.

Oh, wait, she remembers. She gulps down a bit more of the smashing red Meena's ordered for the table and smiles. It was just after he and John started sharing a flat, because the day he met John was the day he was beating that corpse and oh GOD he was so damn hot that she'd finally worked up the nerve to ask him for coffee.

Too bad he'd thought she was just asking for his coffee order. She frowns after sipping more from her glass. She'd never really cleared that up with him, whether he misunderstood her or whether he'd misunderstood her on purpose.

Doesn't matter, she decides. She smiles and takes a healthy swig of her drink, making a face and shaking a finger at a giggling Meena when she realizes she's been slipped a glass of gin. "Naughty," she declares, but finishes the drink and gets back to mooning over Sherlock bloody finally-got-his-head-out-of-his-arse Holmes.

He took his sweet time, true, but they're together now, and she shouldn't be dwelling on the past, but LORD the sight of him gyrating around on stage wearing nothing but a pair of very tiny red pants over what she'd since discovered was NOT a padded g-string had DONE things to her.

Things she desperately wants him to do to her now, come to think. She stands up, far more woozily than she expects to, and announces to one and all that she's going home to shag her husband. They all cheer her on, even Mrs. Hudson, and she allows Sally Donovan, who can hold her liquor like nobody's business, to escort her to the door and into a cab.

When she gets home of course she's too tipsy for the shagging, but the next morning Sherlock happily indulges her...again, and again, and again.


	4. Romance Novels

_A/N: Rated T. Molly's going shopping and Sherlock will be more than happy he interrupted her holiday for a case._

* * *

"_The Ripped Bodice*?_ Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Molly replies, busy placing the Culver City bookstore address into her satnav - GPS, they call it here in California, ridiculous country, the US - and he sighs. Loudly. _Pointedly_.

Molly gives him her Serious Face when she finishes the programming. "Yes, we're going. We're here on holiday, Sherlock, _my _holiday, if you recall, which you hijacked for your case, and now that it's over, I'm getting back to the holiday part. Plus," she adds, "it's Valentine's Day."

"Wouldn't you rather spend it somewhere there's likely to be _actual_ romance rather than just words on a page?"

He means their hotel of course, but she's not biting. (That will come later, along with moaning and gasping and general sweaty pleasure.)

"Of course I would." Before he can offer up his signature Smug Smile(TM), she adds, "After I'm done shopping."

And she nods, firmly, unwavering in her decision, which reminds him that he likes a decisive Molly. Very, very much. "Fine," he concedes (not much of a concession since he did, indeed, hijack her holiday and she would be well within her rights to tell him to piss off which luckily for him she rarely does). "Let's see what a romance novel bookstore has to offer."

"The next visit after that's to a lingerie shop," she says, rather casually, and his ears (and other body parts) perk up. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, a dimple appearing near her mouth. "If you behave at the bookstore - no grumbling, no sneering and most of all no deducing either the books or the staff - then maybe I'll let you get in some practice at the fine art of bodice ripping, what d'you say"

He _says _nothing, but his answering kiss is both eloquent and enthusiastic.

* * *

_*Real place, folks! the ripped bodice la dot com_


	5. Bouquet of Roses

_A/N: Rated K for kewt 3. _

* * *

Prya and Meena count to three together, then throw their bouquets over their shoulders.

Molly, not quite sure how, ends up with both of them.

Arms laden with two matching bouquets of pink and white roses, eyes wide, she turns to look at Sherlock.

He raises an eyebrow and sniffs. "We're only having one wedding, Molly, no matter how many bouquets you catch." He side-eyes the two giggling brides. "And we're definitely not getting married on Valentine's Day."

She has one bouquet of traditional white roses when they're married six months later in the church near his parent's home - and one bouquet of pink roses when they renew their vows at their 25th wedding anniversary.

"So much for one wedding," she whispers smugly.

He raises an eyebrow (grey now instead of dark brown) and sniffs. "Doesn't count," he insists, then smiles and kisses his wife ("Bride!" Molly laughingly insists) to the applause of their friends and family.


	6. Jewelry

_A/N: Rated K. Six down, three to go!_

* * *

He places the ring on her finger, sliding it up, up past the first knuckle, then the second, until it comes to rest against the base of her finger and sits there, a simple gold band, the only piece of jewelry he's ever purchased for anyone (Janine doesn't count, he only rented that diamond and luckily Mrs. Hudson returned it to the jewelers while he was in hospital).

They decided against an engagement ring; with her work, Molly can't really wear rings with a high profile and he knows that she nearly lost her previous engagement ring from That-Man-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named more than once because of having to take it off for autopsies.

Then she slides the matching gold band on his finger and their eyes meet and his breath catches and thoughts of anyone other than his Molly evaporate like mist in the midsummer sun.

Then she kisses him, his Valentine's Day bride, and Sherlock Holmes knows he's the luckiest man in the world.


	7. Fancy Dinner

_A/N: I have no idea when MasterChef is aired in London but for the sake of this story it airs on Valentine's Day. Rated T for impied sexytimes at the end. Enjoy!_

* * *

Molly spewed out a mouthful of quinoa, eyes bugging as she stared at the television screen. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed once she was able to speak (and had hastily wiped her mouth with the linen napkin he'd so solicitously unfolded and placed on her lap).

He looked up, a patently false innocent expression on his face. "Problem, Molly? The quinoa not cooked properly? Too salty?"

"No, it's perfect, you know it's perfect," Molly retorted. "But you! That's you!" She pointed at the television set on the kitchen counter, placed so they could both see it perfectly from their own sides of the table. A table normally cluttered with scientific equipment and decaying body parts, but now scrubbed within an inch of its metaphorical life, covered with a crisp white tablecloth, and set with an exquisite vintage Royal Copenhagen china set (borrowed from his mother just for this occasion, he'd admitted when she admired it and questioned its origins), crystalware, and sterling silverware (also borrowed from his mother).

"Hmm, yes, that does appear to be me," Sherlock agreed, taking another bite of his quinoa. Quinoa that he had prepared.

Quinoa exactly like he was preparing on the television screen, where he was apparently not only competing on _MasterChef_...but _winning _it?!

Molly's mind was, to put it mildly, boggling. According to both John and Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes lived mostly on tea, biscuits and chips, and wouldn't know his way around a kitchen if given a guided tour - he kept handcuffs in the salad drawer, for heaven's sake!

And yet, here he was, having prepared her an exquisite meal - which he'd given his solemn word was his work and his alone, and which Mrs. Hudson had been invited up to attest to. And there he was on the telly, demonstrating his cooking skills with panache and that inborn elegance he demonstrated in (almost) everything he put a hand to.

(She'd already agreed Never to Speak of That Incident With the Poetry ever again.)

"So that's where you were, you git! You told me it was for a case! - Wait, _was _it for a case?" She racked her brain, but couldn't think off-hand if she'd read about any of the judges - or contestants, for that matter - having been arrested recently.

"Nope." Wonder of wonders, he didn't pop the p. In fact, he looked rather serious, but in a shivery-good kind of way, as he held her gaze with his. Oooh yeah, definitely full smoulder going on there. "I badgered my way onto the show so I could perfect my cooking skills in time for tonight's dinner."

Molly felt her eyes welling up a bit as she took in this admission. "You went on that show...for me?"

He nodded, reaching out and taking her free hand in his, the delicious meal he'd prepared completely forgotten as he rubbed his thumb gently over her knuckles. "Who else?" He frowned. "You have no idea how much work it took for me to talk them out of making me wear that damned hat."

She chuckled a bit at the visual of him wearing a pinny and the hat. "Thank you," she said, leaning across the table for a soft, lingering kiss. "Thank you so much, Sherlock, for doing all this for me. You didn't have to, you know. I'd still love you even if you'd just taken me out for chips."

"I'll make a note of that for next year," he replied with a chuckle of his own. "Now. Shall we get back to this ridiculously overwrought feast I've prepared? There's a chocolate torte for dessert, but I'm afraid it's store-bought." He waggled his eyebrows. "So it'll keep until tomorrow if…"

"If?" Molly prompted with a knowing grin - and another bite of her delicious quinoa. TV-Sherlock was rather arrogantly explaining his 'process' to the off-screen interviewer; without looking, real-life Sherlock - HER Sherlock, as she deliriously reminded herself - reached over, grabbed the remote, and clicked the show off.

"If," he continued with a decided twinkle in his eyes, "you'd rather have it tomorrow. For, say, breakfast. In bed?"

Molly's response was an enthusiastic kiss, preceded by a lunge across the table that nearly took out a piece of stemware but luckily Sherlock's reflexes were nothing short of cat-like; the slender flute was saved, the remainder of dinner was forgotten, and the chocolate torte was, indeed, eaten the next morning for breakfast.

In bed.


	8. Kisses

_A/N: Just a bit of a super-late-for-the-challenge drabble. Super sweet, super fluffy, rated K+. Enjoy!_

* * *

It's unintentional; neither of them pay particular attention to holidays outside of Christmas and Halloween (Molly's never missed a Halloween shift and always dresses up and Sherlock not-so-secretly loves this about her). But it happens to be Valentine's Day when they share their first non-platonic, non-apologetic kiss.

There are many others kisses in their future, but that's the one they treasure the most. And every Valentine's Day after that one, until the very last one they share together many, many years in the future, Sherlock makes sure he's there to kiss his Molly.


	9. Free Space

_A/N: Here it is, my final entry into the Valentine's Day Bingo! fic challenge. Soooo late, but I'm proud I was able to finish. Now on to write the rest of my extremely overdue Sherlolly Appreciation Week fics. Wish me luck!_

* * *

Sherlock glares at Molly in utter outrage. "That's, that's _cheating_!" he sputters as she, far too gleefully, scoops up the pile of Monopoly money from the center of the board.

"House rules," she reminds him sweetly. "You agreed we'd play by my house rules, and my house rules include putting all fees, fines and taxes into the free parking kitty. And, hm, whose little thimble is sitting on free parking? Why, it's mine, I do believe!"

"You're mocking me," he sulks, flopping back against his chair. They're sitting on the floor of 221B. There's a roaring fire, glasses of very expensive wine for each of them (which he'd stolen from Mycroft's Belgravian mansion only just this morning but he's not about to tell Molly that)...and somehow she'd talked him into playing this ridiculous board game instead of doing the other, far more interesting things he'd had planned.

No, it's not the Valentine's Day (evening) he planned, but he's never been able to say no to Molly, especially not when she gives him the big, dark eyes and toys with his shirt buttons. Very much like she's doing right now, reaching across the small space separating them to do so.

"My house rules are better," he pouts, refusing to give in just yet. "None of this free space nonsense. Timers," he adds, tapping his phone. "It's a far more challenging game when you're forced to make all your decisions in a shorter period of ti - mmpfh!"

He's silenced in the most delicious way possible, by the press of Molly's lips against his. She crawls across the board, scattering houses, hotels, Monopoly money and Chance cards every which way and effectively forfeiting her considerable lead and oh my but he does _not _care the least tiniest little bit.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Molly mumbles against his lips as she squirms (in the most delightful manner) into his lap.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he responds, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her as close as he possibly can.

(_Later he'll quizz her as to her reasons for delaying their intimate activities; she'll admit that it was because she was curious to see how long it would take before he broke down and used his manly wiles to distract her, only she'd been the first one to break and, well, she'll promise she _probably _won't try that again and that 'probably' causes him to tickle her mercilessly which leads to other, far more interesting activities involving each other's 'free spaces' which are far superior to any found on a game board.)_


End file.
